The Best Sort of Blunder
by QueenOfTheDreamers87
Summary: After a drunken encounter in his office on New Year's Eve of 1969, Lord Voldemort realises that his youngest Death Eater and Hogwarts spy is going to seem and behave a bit differently. Has he crossed a Rubicon that can't be uncrossed, or will Bellatrix become the best sort of blunder?
1. The Mistake

_**31 December 1969**_

 _ **Malfoy Manor**_

"Bellatrix."

"My Lord!" She looked marvelous, he thought distantly. She looked _marvelous_ in her skimpy little dress of metallic black material. She was home from school for the Christmas holidays, his very youngest Death Eater, and she'd been invited to this New Year's Eve party because she bore the Dark Mark like every other party attendant. And, like every other party attendant, she was profoundly drunk. Well, so was Lord Voldemort.

He'd started off slowly, sipping firewhisky during conversations, but as the night had worn on and Bellatrix had distracted him looking rather marvelous in her tiny black dress, he'd had loads of gin and Gillywater, and then some more firewhisky, until now he was making something of a fool of himself stumbling around the Malfoy ballroom. It didn't matter; everyone else was at least as drunk as he was. But if Lord Voldemort wanted to climb to power, poise and self-control were key, and he was failing rather abjectly with both those tasks just now.

"Bellatrix," he said again, and she sipped through a straw at her violently pink drink and said flirtatiously,

"My Lord."

His mouth fell open then. Did she _want_ him? Little vixen! She was only eighteen, a seventh-year Slytherin serving him as a spy at Hogwarts. She'd been so eager to serve him that he'd made her a Death Eater whilst she was still at school. Now she stared up at him with bleary, wide eyes, and he asked over the loud music blaring from the Wizarding Wireless,

"Would you like to see my office?"

"Oh. Erm… yes! Please!" Bellatrix grinned and followed him as he meandered out of the ballroom, music thudding behind him. The smell of pipe smoke followed him, for Avery and Nott were smoking something bizarre in the party. Muskogee Rat Weed from America, he'd heard Nott say, and soon enough the two wizards had descended into a happy trance. Now Voldemort stumbled down the corridor and mumbled,

"I don't… don't usually get drunk like this."

"Well, it's New Year's, Master," Bellatrix slurred, and he added,

"And my birthday."

"I beg your pardon?" Bellatrix asked as Voldemort approached his office. He blinked slowly, pushing his door open, and he said in a complete blur of words,

"It's my birthday. It's… I'm forty-three today."

"What? Oh! Happy birth-"

"Hush." Voldemort put his finger to Bellatrix's lips in the corridor outside his office, and she brought her cardboard straw up again to sip at her drink. She nodded and whispered.

"Sorry. Keep it secret, then."

"Yes." Voldemort practically fell into his office, and when Bellatrix followed him, he shut the door and declared rather loudly, "So, this is my office!"

"I've been here," Bellatrix reminded him. "Master, this is where you put my Dark Mark upon me."

"Oh." Voldemort frowned. "Is it? It is. Oh, yes. It… hm. No reason to have brought you here, then."

"I didn't get a good look the first time." Bellatrix finished off her pink drink and went to set it down on a table that didn't exist. When it tumbled to the ground, making a mess of ice cubes and broken glass, she gasped and swore and started to descend to her knees.

"Sorry! I'm sorry, Master," she mumbled, kneeling on the ground, but Voldemort whipped out his wand and murmured,

" _Tergeo. Crystallum Evanesco._ "

She stared up at him as the mess was cleaned, and as he slowly tucked his wand away, he felt so drunk that he thought he might just topple over. Bellatrix blinked up at him, still kneeling, and she whispered,

"Thank you, My Lord."

"Need help up?" he shrugged, and she shook her head. She crawled toward him, bravely reaching for his robes, and Voldemort knew he should recoil. Instead he just shut his eyes and asked softly, "What are you doing, Bellatrix?"

"Thanking you. Worshipping you. Master. Oh, my master, my Lord…" She sounded entranced, and he could feel her fingers threading into the material of his robes, unbuttoning his trousers. He realised then what she meant to do, and he knew he should stop her. He should drag her to her feet and scold her. Torture her.

Instead he reached out and held onto the bookcase for purchase, and he sucked in air through clenched teeth as Bellatrix pulled his hardening cock out of his trousers.

"I don't know… I'm not really sure what to do with it," she admitted, and Voldemort instructed her,

"Try to swallow the whole thing. No teeth. Tongue on the bottom."

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix's voice was a breathy whisper then, and he stared down at her as she took him in her mouth. She had beautiful hair, he thought. Her curls were free and wild. She had lovely, big, brown eyes. She had a nice, narrow nose and full lips. Freckled high cheeks. She was pretty. So pretty.

"Bellatrix." He cradled her face in his hand as she suckled on him, her hand trailing behind her lips. Pink lips. Full lips. He tipped his head back and mumbled, "Feels good, but… erm…"

He was going soft in her mouth, he could tell. He was too drunk for this. Bellatrix frowned and looked up at him.

"I'm doing it wrong, aren't I, Master?"

"No." He hurried to tuck himself away, and he assured her, "It doesn't work right when… I'm forty-three today, and… too much whisky and gin, you know?"

"Oh." Bellatrix didn't seem to understand, so he helped her to her feet and took her face in his hands. He stared down at her, at her big eyes and her full lips, and he said carefully,

"I do want you. Badly. Hmm."

She blinked a few times and whispered,

"Happy birthday, My Lord. We should go back… go back to the party. It's almost midnight."

"Mmm-hmm." He bent and swiftly touched his lips to hers, and when she looked utterly shocked, he said in the lightest voice he could slur at her, "That's for midnight. Happy New Year. Let's go."

* * *

The meeting on the third of January was to be the last before she went back to Hogwarts. Bellatrix had had a private appointment with Lord Voldemort scheduled on this date for months so that they could strategise her spying at school. But now he rather wished he'd never scheduled this meeting, that he could just send her straight back to school.

His memories of New Year's Eve were just hazy enough to be confusing and just clear enough to be humiliating. Voldemort was shocked by how they'd behaved, the both of them. He was utterly taken aback at his own antics, holding her face and kissing her, and at her, crawling up to him and trying to fellate him. It was all filthy and mortifying. And yet, the last few nights, he'd been unable to escape dreams of her with her mouth around him, dreams that had made him wake up hard, dreams that had made him want her far more than he'd wanted her standing drunk in that office.

"Enter," he said sharply, for there had been a few timid knocks on his door. The door opened, and Bellatrix appeared, and Voldemort folded his hands on his desk. He cleared his throat as she came in, bowed respectfully, and sat in the chair opposite him. She was silent, her head bowed low, and finally he said to her,

"I'd like you to keep an extra close eye on Gideon and Fabian Prewett; I've loads of evidence that they mean to join Dumbledore's little _Order_ as soon as they leave school. And, of course, among the staff, McGonagall is the biggest threat aside from Dumbledore himself."

"Yes, Master. I'll be sure to communicate with you very regularly," Bellatrix nodded. "I'll write to you as Mr Jester, as you've instructed."

Voldemort pursed his lips and shook his head. "I don't trust owls. Too easily intercepted. I'll get a schedule of your Hogsmeade visits. I'll meet you in Room Six of the Doxy's Nest at ten o'clock every time you have a Hogsmeade visit. If there's something more immediate, write to me, but otherwise I'd like you to compile a dossier and present it to me at each Hogsmeade visit."

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix nodded, pushing some curls out of her face. Voldemort's heart began to accelerate in his chest, and his breath sped up as he studied Bellatrix's pretty eyes and pretty nose and pretty mouth.

"You may go," he snapped, and she just rose and began to walk away. He gripped the edge of his desk and gulped hard, and he called after her, "Bellatrix."

She turned around at the office door, cocking an eyebrow and looking half curious and half afraid. He licked his lip and said in a cautious voice,

"I… I would like to know when your first Hogsmeade visit is."

Bellatrix nodded, and he saw then that her cheeks were scarlet. "It's on the thirty-first of January, Master."

"Ah. Ten o'clock, then," he said, and she nodded crisply.

"Room Six of the Doxy's Nest. Yes, Master. I'll be there."

He watched her go, and when the door shut, he realised his knuckles were white where he still held the edge of his desk.

 **Author's Note: Thank you again for all the PMs about my health. I got discharged from the hospital today and would like to get back into Bellamort writing with this new story, which I intend on being a bit of a fun romp since that's just what I need to write right now. :) Hope you'll join me.**


	2. The Doxy's Nest

Bellatrix's eyes snapped open, and she panted where she lay in here curtained bed in the Slytherin girls' dormitory. She sat up slowly, feeling drenched between her legs, her heart racing. She'd dreamed of him again - of her master. She dragged her fingers over her blankets and whispered,

"My Lord."

She pulled herself out of bed and realised she was the first awake; the other girls had yet to rise. Bellatrix hurried to take a quick shower in the row of copper spigots with deep green curtains lined up in the bathroom, and then she dressed in her robes and tamed her curls into a low ponytail before cleaning her teeth.

"Bellatrix? Coming to breakfast?" Agnes Avery, plump and cranky, came waddling into the bathroom and went into one of the showers, shoving her nightgown out onto a hook.

"Erm… breakfast. Yeah." Bellatrix nodded, staring at the mirror above a sink as she pulled out a few cosmetics items from her makeup bag.

"It's only that you haven't been at breakfast for a week," noted Delia Nott, who was tall and thin, Neve's complete foil. She and Agnes were the closest things Bellatrix had to friends here at school; the other two Slytherin girls mostly kept to themselves and had closer friends in Ravenclaw. Bellatrix finished up her makeup as the other two girls showered, and once her friends began to dress, Bellatrix made up her bed and said quietly,

"I've been distracted."

"We've noticed," Agnes and Delia said in unison. Bellatrix pinched her lips, and Delia asked,

"Is it a boy? You're not arranged to marry, I didn't think."

"No, I'm not. My father tried to match me to Rodolphus Lestrange, but I refused."

"We could have been sisters-in-law!" Delia complained for the fifteenth time, for she was going to marry Rabastan Lestrange, who was two years older, at the end of term. Poor Agnes' face went red, for nobody wanted to marry her. Bellatrix said hurriedly,

"It's nothing to do with marriage. Nothing at all."

"Is it… _him?_ " Agnes asked. Bellatrix just nodded. Both Delia's and Agnes' fathers were Death Eaters. They'd seen Bellatrix's pale pink dormant Dark Mark, which she did her best to keep hidden. They knew that she was associated with Lord Voldemort.

"I'm not in trouble… I don't think," Bellatrix frowned. "I have some work to do. I can't discuss it."

None of that was untrue, though lying was hardly outside the bounds of Bellatrix's moral code, if she had one. Delia and Agnes nodded, and all of them headed out and up for breakfast. At the breakfast table, Bellatrix noticed that Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore were speaking very animatedly in a very concerned manner.

"Has someone got a copy of the _Daily Prophet?_ " Bellatrix asked, and Maximilian Nott quickly handed her his copy, flashing her a rather flirtatious smile. Bellatrix smirked and said, "Thanks, Max."

She took the newspaper and examined it, wondering if there wasn't some reason for McGonagall and Dumbledore to be speaking so excitedly with frowns on. But the headline on the newspaper read,

 _QUIDDITCH MATCH IN IRELAND POSTPONED DUE TO LIGHTNING STORM._

Bellatrix scowled, reading about how there was controversy, for matches had gone on in worse weather before and people had scheduled their work holidays round the match. She studied the smaller stories - _Orsino and the Bears Break Up for Good. Madam Malkin's Debuts Spring 1970 Line. Beretta Crouch, Beloved Columnist, Dies at Age 102._ None of those seemed like stories that could inspire the sort of animated discussion McGonagall and Dumbledore were having.

"Did you hear about Gideon Prewett and Locke Mulciber?" asked Maximilian Nott. Bellatrix cocked up an eyebrow and shook her head, attempting to look disinterested.

"They got into a duel in the corridor last night," hissed Neve Greengrass, a younger Slytherin girl, from down the table. "I heard that Locke called Prewett a Blood Traitor, and Prewett told him he had a wand up his arse, and they started throwing jinxes and hexes at one another. They each lost their Houses fifty points."

"Fifty? _Fifty?_ That'll put us behind Ravenclaw _and_ Hufflepuff!" complained Agnes Avery, but Maximilian Nott said,

"They also gave them both Saturday detentions to the end of term, and no Hogsmeade visits. They're really in big trouble, the both of them."

"Well, I say good on Locke," said little Neve, and everyone else seemed to agree.

Later that day, after lessons, Bellatrix took note of the development, writing it down to the best of her ability to detail, including every punishment that had been given to the boys and the way Dumbledore and McGonagall had been talking. There were only five days left until the first Hogsmeade visit of term, after all, and Bellatrix wanted to have a full dossier to present to her master.

* * *

"I've got a meeting," Bellatrix said. "You girls go on ahead. I'll see you later."

"A meeting?" Delia threw her eyebrows up, but Agnes insisted,

"My father says it's best not to ask about these things."

"Your father's right," Bellatrix nodded. "See you."

"Bye." Agnes hurried off down the frozen, muddy street of Hogsmeade, and Delia rushed off with her. Bellatrix chewed her lip, feeling very anxious as she looked in her rucksack to be sure that she'd brought her leather folio full of parchments, her reports for Lord Voldemort. She went to the unmarked building that everyone knew was the Doxy's Nest, a place known for prostitutes and worse, a place that was not strictly forbidden to Hogwarts students, but definitely not a place students or staff would frequent. Bellatrix decided to Disillusion herself for a quick moment as she approached the building, just so that no one would see her walk inside. She hurried through the hunched doorway, and when she walked in, she took her Disillusionment Charm off, and she said to the grouchy-looking old witch behind the small reception desk,

"I'm meant to be meeting someone upstairs. I don't need a key, I don't think."

"Not my business; I'm not interested," the witch droned. "But, darling, if you're getting into a certain sort of business, best that you -"

"Thought you weren't interested," Bellatrix quipped, for she didn't feel like explaining to the witch that she wasn't a whore. Instead she just headed up the narrow, winding stairs, the wood creaking beneath her boots, and when she reached the second landing, she studied the room numbers. Room Three, Room Four, Room Five… Room Six. There it was, at the very end of the shadowy corridor. Bellatrix raised her fist and knocked a few times, and finally the door opened to reveal Lord Voldemort standing in traveling clothes, looking rather nervous.

"Come inside. Quickly," he said. She hurried in, and he informed her, "I had to Transfigure my features, and I _still_ had to Confound a suspicious wizard in the street. So let's make this as quick as we can, if you please."

"The dossier, My Lord." Bellatrix reached with shaking hands into her rucksack and pulled out the leather folio, and when she handed it over, Voldemort sank onto the weighty burgundy bed and began to read. Bellatrix stood, wringing her hands, feeling anxious. She moved over by the fire, for the room was chilly, and as he continued reading, she went over by the window and stared down at the snowy streets below. Voldemort finally said to her,

"This is helpful information. Thank you."

"I'm glad to be of service, Master," Bellatrix said honestly. She turned toward him from where she stood by the window, and then the silence in the room became very heavy indeed. She'd spent the last month thinking almost constantly about him, about what had happened between them.

"I suppose… as your master, I would be remiss not to apologise for New Year's Eve," Voldemort said tightly, rising from the bed. Bellatrix scoffed a little and shook her head.

"Apologise? No, Master; I'd forgotten all about it."

"Liar," he said quietly, and she felt her cheeks go hot. She stared out the window again, and then she heard him order her, "Come here."

She couldn't disobey, so she walked reluctantly toward him, wondering if someone had hit her with a Jelly-Legs Jinx. She approached him and whispered,

"It's me who's sorry. I acted like a slut. I'm sorry."

"We were both profoundly drunk," Voldemort clipped, "but I find that people are, unfortunately, at their most genuine when very drunk."

She was shocked to hear him say that, and she just blinked a few times. He shrugged down at her, towering over her, and he said,

"I wanted you, and you wanted me, and in that particular instant, we had both lost sufficient inhibition to act upon those ideas."

"My Lord." Bellatrix tried to look away, but she couldn't. Her eyes locked onto his. He had a dark gaze, a piercing gaze, and a sharp, angular face. He was forty-three now, she'd learnt, for New Year's Eve had been his birthday. She suddenly remembered him hushing her, his finger on her lips. She remembered his cock in her mouth, if only for a moment, and the way he hadn't seemed to mind that. She remembered him kissing her and saying, _This is for midnight._

"Thank you for the good information, Bellatrix," Voldemort said solemnly. She just nodded silently, and he set the leather folio down on the bed, extracted the parchments from inside, pulled his wand out, and Vanished the parchments. She didn't need to ask why. He'd memorised the information she'd given him; he was brilliant. Why have a paper trail that wasn't necessary? He handed her the empty folio, which she put back into her rucksack, and then suddenly his hands were on her face like they'd been on New Year's Eve. His dark eyes glittered rather fiercely, and Bellatrix felt her whole body flush and throb for him. Her breath sped up in her nostrils as she stared, as she studied, and finally he asked her,

"Well? Were they the nonsensical actions of a drunken girl, Bellatrix? Or do you still crave your master like you did that night?"

Bellatrix could hardly think then, much less speak, so she stammered, "I still… It's still the same…"

"Good." Voldemort bent down then to kiss her, gently at first, his lips brushing against hers, but then he became far more dominant. He began to push Bellatrix toward the wall, looming over her, his mouth crushing down, his tongue urging her lips apart. She moaned, thinking maybe she was a whore, after all. She didn't care. She liked this, the way he was dragging his tongue around the roof of her mouth, sucking on her lip, touching her face. She reached for his arms, stroking him a little there, and he groaned a bit. When he finally released her, Bellatrix was breathless and aroused, and she blinked quickly as he stepped away and said clinically,

"Right. Thank you for your skilful spy work, Miss Black. I shall see you on the first of March."

"The… the first of March. Yes, Master."

He kissed her again then, a bruising, harsh kiss, and Bellatrix liked it so much that she whimpered against him and boldly reached up for his face. She was so wet, throbbing so hard between her legs when he released that she could hardly take it, and when she stumbled out of Room Six, it took everything she had not to fall down the stairs of the Doxy's Nest and make her way back toward Hogwarts Castle.

 **Author's Note: So he wants her, but he's definitely in control. They've got one more Hogsmeade visit before she's home for the Easter holidays… hmm… Thank you so very much to all those reading and reviewing. I'm very grateful.**


	3. Mr Jester

"My Lord. What a frigid day it is," said Ambrose Avery as he came into Voldemort's office. Voldemort curled up half his mouth and said,

"And on Valentine's Day, no less. I trust you and your wife have romantic plans for the evening."

"Well, we were going to go out dancing in London, but, erm… she's still cross with me over what happened a few months back," Avery said, his cheeks going pink. Voldemort raised his brows. Avery had been caught in his home with a younger, much more beautiful witch, some Half-Blood he'd been carrying on with. It had been his daughter Agnes to discover him, just before the girl had gone back to Hogwarts after the summer. Voldemort almost felt sorry for the girl. Almost. He certainly didn't feel sorry for Avery.

"Have you got any plans for the evening, My Lord?" Avery asked, and though Voldemort knew he meant it innocently, the question felt profoundly invasive. Voldemort threw up a brow and demanded,

"Even when I was young and handsome, Ambrose, have you ever once known me to celebrate Valentine's Day with a witch in tow?"

Avery laughed a little and shook his head. "No, sir. I haven't. I apologise."

"I didn't call you here to talk about witches," Voldemort said, and there was a vibrant flash in his mind of kissing Bellatrix Black, of her kneeling before him. He gripped the edge of his desk and gulped hard, and he said to Avery, "I need to ensure that the _Daily Prophet_ is working for me. Can you be certain, now that you've gained a Senior Editor's position, that more stories about blood purity come to light? Slip in little details about blood status, things like that?"  
"Yes, Master. That's the plan. But I can't guarantee, at least not yet, that any attacks won't be covered in full. They will, if they happen."

"Attacks are not likely for several months," Voldemort said dismissively. "We're not quite there yet. That last attack in October trained the Ministry's eyes and ears on us, and we can't afford yet to go shooting our wands off whenever we feel so inclined. We need to focus on winning over money and interest."

"I understand, My Lord." Avery nodded. "I'll do everything I can at the newspaper."

"Dismissed." Voldemort folded his hands and flashed Avery a mirthless little smile. "Happy Valentine's Day, then."

* * *

"What information do we have about Molly Prewett and Arthur Weasley?" Voldemort asked tightly, looking around the small group he'd gathered. Abraxas Malfoy, Avery, Nott, Lestrange, and Mulciber had come to discuss the Prewett family and the threat they posed. Abraxas Malfoy spoke up and said,

"Our intelligence says that Molly Prewett and Arthur Weasley became engaged of a love match during their seventh year at Hogwarts, Master, and that they are marrying this summer. They're both close allies of Albus Dumbledore; it's likely he'll be in attendance at the wedding, along with both Gideon and Fabian, obviously. In fact, many members of this so-called _Order of the Phoenix,_ if it is real, are likely to be there."

"What date is the wedding?" Voldemort asked in a snap, and Malfoy shrugged helplessly.

"That we don't know, sir."

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "I know where I can find out. You're all a bit less than useless. I'll get the information myself. Good day."

He rose, and when he did, everyone flew to their feet, looking confused. Voldemort hurried off to his office, and when he sat at his desk, he pulled out a bit of parchment and wrote down,

 _B,_

 _Bring me the date of the Prewett-Weasley wedding._

 _Mr Jester_

* * *

Voldemort paced around Room Two of the Doxy's Nest, hoping Bellatrix would pause long enough downstairs to find out this was where he was. When he'd found out that Room Six was already occupied, he'd complained and tried to change the situation, but he'd finally given the witch at reception five Galleons in exchange for ensuring that the pretty girl in Slytherin robes came to Room Two instead. Now he paced around the room, with its sky blue curtains and bedding and dark wood paneling, and he licked his lip carefully. His palms were sweating and his throat felt tight, and he knew why.

For the last several months, he'd been consumed with the idea of New Year's Eve. He wanted to regret it, to regret what he'd done to her on the thirty-first of January. Instead he'd been craving her. She was intelligent and loyal. She was a hard worker with a biting sense of humour and a sharp sense of wit. She was beautiful. More than a little beautiful. She was striking. His breath quickened a bit as he glanced toward the bed and tried to convince himself not to talk her into the sheets.

He jolted at the sound of knocking on the door, and when he pulled it open, Bellatrix smirked up at him and hurried inside.

"Room Six was occupied, she said," Bellatrix whispered, and when Voldemort shut the door behind her, she pulled out her leather folio and dutifully handed it over. She nodded and told him, "The twentieth of June. The wedding is on the twentieth of June. It took a few weeks of eavesdropping on the right conversations, but that's when Molly Prewett's marrying Arthur Weasley."

"Good girl. You found out what my grown-up Death Eaters couldn't." He tipped his head and took her jaw in his hand, bending to kiss her forehead. She seemed immensely pleased by that, almost breathless, and when he sat on the bed and opened the folio, he patted the spot beside him. She waited, but he finally looked up at her and said softly, "Sit."

She smiled a little and obeyed, and Voldemort started thumbing through the information she'd written down. Professor Flitwick seemed far more friendly with Dumbledore and McGonagall than the other professors did. Several of the Gryffindor students had spoken openly against Lord Voldemort. Several of the Slytherins - children of Death Eaters, mostly - had expressed support for Voldemort, but only in the Common Room. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs seemed eager to stay out of it, except for a few Hufflepuff Mudbloods who seemed very afraid of Voldemort's policies. Fabian Prewett had gotten in trouble again, this time for setting off Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder during a Potions exam. Voldemort Vanished the parchments and handed Bellatrix her leather folio back, and as she tucked it away, he told her,

"You're a damn good spy, you know."

"I'm trying my best, Master," Bellatrix nodded. He chewed his lip and nodded, and he said quietly,

"You've been distracting me as of late. Thoughts of you have… have been distracting me."

"Oh." Bellatrix blinked a few times, adjusting her Slytherin tie. "I'm sorry. But I do know the sensation. My roommates are getting worried. Very worried."

"Are they?" Voldemort reached out for her, wishing suddenly that she didn't have so many damned clothes on. "Are they worried?"

"Yes," Bellatrix whispered. She reached back for him, her fingers dancing across the metal clasp of his black robe. She stared right at him and murmured, "They think I've got a bit mad. I just stare sometimes, but they don't realise I'm remembering."

"Remembering what?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix dared to unfasten his robe and start to push it away.

"Remembering the way that a little too much liquor let me do something I wouldn't have normally dared."

"You seem rather daring now," Voldemort noted, shucking his robe and peeling off his tunic beneath. He was shirtless then, and Bellatrix went wide-eyed as she shook her head.

"I don't feel daring, Master, but I do feel… desirous."

"You do, do you?" Voldemort pulled at Bellatrix's tie, making her gasp in surprise, and when he yanked it over her head and tossed it aside, she shimmied out of her black cloak and robe, and his fingers wrenched at the hem of her grey jumper. She started to unbutton her white collared shirt, and soon enough she was in nothing but a simple white cotton bra. She was so young, Voldemort thought distantly. She was only eighteen. He didn't mind. He didn't care that she was young and he was middle-aged. It didn't feel wrong; it felt very right just now.

He'd had a few witches during his years as Tom Riddle, when he'd been very young and very handsome, but it had been a solid twenty years since he'd really laid hands on a witch. He'd been too busy and too distrustful to touch anyone, much less be touched. Right now, he wanted to touch her, to let her touch him.

"Bellatrix." He pushed her shoulders, urging her back onto the bed, and Bellatrix stared up at him with wide eyes as she kicked off her black loafers and used her toes to pull off her knee-high stockings. She unbuttoned her skirt shoved it down, kicking it away, leaving her in nothing but her bra and knickers. Voldemort suddenly thought that he shouldn't claim her, that he shouldn't take her virginity. Not here, not in this dingy little hotel room. He swallowed past the knot in his throat and mumbled,

"I think… I'll just touch you."

"You'll just touch me?" Bellatrix seemed confused, even more so when he slid her white knickers down and pressed his fingers between her legs. She gasped, parting her thighs for him. Voldemort scooted up onto the bed and informed her,

"I'm going to touch both you and me. Both of us at the same time. I don't wish to go further than that. Not today."

"Whatever you want, Master," Bellatrix nodded. Voldemort unbuttoned his trousers and used his right hand to pull his cock out, and he wandlessly, nonverbally incanted, _Lubrico._ He slid his right hand around his cock as if spreading the invisible lubrication, and he brought his left hand between Bellatrix's legs. He said softly to her,

"Slide off your bra and play with your breasts."

"Yes, My Lord." She did as he said, pulling the bra over her head and then grasping at the tissue of her small, round breasts. She pinched at her peaked nipples, dragging her thumbs over them, and Voldemort choked out a little sound. He slid the pads of his fingers around the folds of Bellatrix's womanhood, and he thrust his tight fist down over the tip of his cock over and over. He moved with his hands in tandem, in rhythm, watching her breasts heave with deepening breath until he felt a distinct need to kiss her.

"Come here." He urged her to sit up, which she did, and then when she knelt near him, he realised there was no good reason not to enter her body. He gulped hard and brushed his fingers across her lower abdomen, whispering, " _Nongravidare Maxima._ "

"Are you going to…?" Bellatrix looked a little afraid, but Voldemort just whispered again,

"Come here."

He was sitting on the bed now, cross-legged, and he encouraged Bellatrix to straddle him. Her breath was rickety and uneven as she put a knee on either side of him, and Voldemort put his hands on her waist and murmured,

"Kiss me."

"Yes, Master." She did as he said, bending down and pressing her lips to his. He guided her onto him, encouraging her downward, and then their breaths mingled, hot and quick and shaking, for she was very snug and warm around him. Her walls quivered, and Bellatrix whimpered in a little bit of pain as he slid into her, and Voldemort squeezed Bellatrix's waist, feeling dizzy. She whispered frantically,

"It hurts, but it feels good. It feels… oh. Master."

She'd threaded her arms tightly round Voldemort's neck, and he kissed her, swallowing her words as he felt a heady pleasure come over him. He encouraged her to move atop him, which she did, swaying forward and up, down and back, forward and up, down and back. After just a few moments of her kissing him, moving on him, feeling young and tight and beautiful, Voldemort realised he was going to come. He had only a moment; he was going to come _right now_.

"Bella." He wasn't sure what compelled him to say her name in a shortened form like that, but as she burrowed her face into his neck, he whispered it again. "Bella. Bellatrix. Bella."

"Master." She jerked her hips, snapping it tightly against him, sending him careening over the edge. His come shot up into her, leaking straight back out between them, and Voldemort's hands slid up to her little back. He pressed his palms there, then snared his fingers into her curls and whispered,

"Bellatrix."

He was breathless, panting, and as his cock started to soften and the ringing in his ears quieted, he heard her whimper. He could feel her walls snapping around him, and he knew she was finding her own release. He'd made her come, he realised. He'd made her come. He'd come inside of her. He could scarcely believe any of that.

This felt entirely too intimate, he thought suddenly. He was cradling her in his arms, holding her very affectionately. He hardly knew her. She barely knew him. He couldn't let her feel close like this. He huffed a breath and pulled her back a bit, studying the look of shock and distant fear on her face. She hurried off of him, and he nodded silently, reaching for his wand.

 _Tergeo,_ he incanted nonverbally, aiming his wand between her legs. _Scourgify._ He repeated the spells on himself, cleaning them both up, and Bellatrix quickly reached for her knickers and her bra.

He let her dress, and he was silent as he stuffed himself back into his trousers, buttoned them up, and pulled his tunic back on. As he clasped on his robe, glancing at Bellatrix, he saw her pulling on her stockings and loafers and then her tie. Voldemort let out a breath that shook far too much for his liking, and he asked crisply,

"When is the next Hogsmeade visit?"

"Oh. Erm… I'll be home for Easter before then, My Lord," Bellatrix reminded him. "I come home on the twenty-second of this month and stay until the thirtieth."

"Oh. Right." Voldemort nodded. "Well, I'll schedule an all-hands meeting for the week before Easter, then, and you can attend. We'll discuss our plans for the Prewett-Weasley wedding. Since you've got us the date. Thank you again for that. I appreciate your able service, truly."

"I'm glad that my work pleases you, Master," Bellatrix said, dragging her tongue over her lower lip. He blinked rapidly a few times and whispered,

"I won't regret it."

"Neither will I," she assured him, and he just nodded.

"Well. Good day, then."

"Good day, My Lord," she said, twining her fingers together. She started to go, but Voldemort called,

"Wait."

She turned round at the door, and he worked past the lump in his throat to say,

"We both need lunch. The food at the Hog's Head is… well, it's a disaster, but there won't be anyone in there. I can Transfigure my features. Would you like to join me?"

"Join you?" Bellatrix asked disbelievingly. "For lunch?"

"Yes." Voldemort began to change his face, to give himself blond curls and a beaked nose, fuller lips and blue eyes, and when he was finished, Bellatrix smirked and nodded.

"I've no idea who you are right now," she said. "Lunch sounds excellent, Master."

 **Author's Note: Oh, dear. Things are definitely heating up and they're getting closer. Now just what sort of a conversation do these two wind up having over lunch, and how will each of them pass the three weeks until Easter holidays now that they've done** _ **it**_ **? Mwah hahaha. Thank you so much for reading. Please, if you get a quick moment to leave a comment, I'd really be very grateful for the feedback. :)**


	4. Don't Be Late

"This… does not look edible," Bellatrix laughed, and Voldemort, with his Transfigured face, curled up his thick lip and shook his head.

"No. It does not."

The slop Aberforth Dumbledore had brought them smelled as though it had been sitting out for four days, and Bellatrix could swear there was mold in hers. She gagged quietly and pushed it away, and Voldemort scoffed a little.

"I could take you to the Three Broomsticks," he said. "I'm Transfigured. No one knows it's me."

Bellatrix breathed in hard through her nostrils and studied his features. Could she see him in there? His eyes were blue, but they seemed _very_ familiar, at least to her. Would anyone else recognise him? She finally nodded, and Lord Voldemort plunked down a Galleon on the table and rose. Bellatrix walked out of the Hog's Head with him and out into the muddy, early spring weather that had settled over Hogsmeade. She followed him down the main road until they reached the busy Three Broomsticks. She still ached between her legs, and then she realised that she'd lost her virginity to him, that they'd done _that_ together, the two of them.

She followed him inside, for he walked with confidence, but he settled into a table in a secluded corner. Bellatrix got a few curious stares as she went with a stranger into the corner, and she whispered,

"Perhaps we ought to have Transfigured me, too, Master."

"Perhaps," he said blandly. Madam Calista, the serving wench, came up to them and asked in a bored sort of voice,

"What'll it be?"

"Have you got a good roast today?" Voldemort asked smoothly, and Calista nodded.

"For roast? I've got mutton with potato. Two? Butterbeers?"

"Sounds perfect," Bellatrix nodded, and Calista walked off. Bellatrix caught the eye of Agnes Avery, and she flashed her a reassuring little smile as she told Voldemort, "I'll have to make up some sort of story."

"Not for the Avery girl," Voldemort said. "Her father's a Death Eater; she knows what's going on, at least in theory. You needn't lie to her. Poor creature found her father with his mistress. Did you know?"

Bellatrix's mouth fell open. "So _that's_ why she and her father hardly ever talk anymore."

Voldemort smirked. The Butterbeers came, and once Calista had gone, Voldemort said softly,

"Your father tried to match you to Rodolphus Lestrange, and you refused."

"I did, sir," Bellatrix nodded. Voldemort tipped his head, sending blond curls shaking.

"Why?"

"Erm…" Bellatrix struggled with embarrassment, but she decided to tell the truth. "I don't want to marry. It's different for witches; once we marry, our focus necessarily pivots to our husband and any children. And I wanted my focus to stay on you."

Voldemort was silent for a moment, staring at her like she had three heads. He sipped from his Butterbeer and then repeated,

"You wanted your focus to stay on me."

"I'm sorry," Bellatrix blurted. "I didn't mean to -"

"No; it's… you don't have to marry." Voldemort sipped his Butterbeer again, and then Calista came with the roast meat and potato. Bellatrix and Voldemort ate in silence for a time, until he told her in a quiet voice,

"I spent some years on the Continent learning some very important Dark skills. I should like to impart some of them to you, given your willingness and enthusiasm about serving me."

Bellatrix's head snapped up toward him, and she nodded vigorously. "Like what, Master?"

"Occlumency would come first," he said. "I'd like to teach you about Necromancy, about casting Curses properly. Things of that nature. After you leave school, I want you as my soldier full-time. Not working in the Ministry or at the _Daily Prophet_ like my other Death Eaters do. You'll be serving me night and day. You understand?"

Suddenly she couldn't breathe. All she could do was nod and try and finish her food.

* * *

The next three weeks seemed to drag by in an interminable crawl. Every meal seemed to last five hours. Every lesson seemed to last a day. Every night was plagued with tossing and turning, and Bellatrix found herself tempted to write letters to _Mr Jester._ She found herself wanting him, craving him. She wanted to serve him. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to feel his skin under her, inside of her. She wanted to kiss his neck and breathe in the scent of him. She wanted to sit in meetings with him and show him her loyalty. She wanted to give him everything. She wanted to be everything he wanted.

By the middle of March, Bellatrix had begun to shake a little without ceasing. Her hands trembled round her quill when she took notes during lessons. Her curls quivered round her head at meals. Her roommates had begun to notice, and one day at dinner, Delia and Agnes looked at one another worriedly, and Delia asked flatly,

"All right… what's wrong?"

"What… nothing's wrong." Bellatrix tore off a bite of dinner roll and scowled, but Delia looked very sceptical. She chomped her lip and insisted,

"You look pale and thin, Bella. You look like someone's drained life out of you. What's happened?"

"It's quite the opposite. I promise." Bellatrix flashed them both little smiles and tried to keep on eating.

When the students who were going home for the Easter holidays boarded the Hogwarts Express, Bellatrix felt nauseated and dizzy. The entire ride back to London, she sat with her head leaning on a window, picking at her robes as the other girls chatted. At one point, Narcissa and Andromeda came into her compartment so that the sisters could disembark together, and then Bellatrix realised they must be nearing London. When they steamed into King's Cross, Bellatrix got off with Narcissa and Andromeda. Her father and mother took her younger sisters home by Side-Along, and they took their small suitcases with them. Bellatrix went on her own, for she had her Apparition licence now.

The Black family - or at least this branch of the Black family - lived in a luxurious townhouse in Knightsbridge. It was a six-bedroom, six-bathroom place with lounges and a library, a formal dining room and formal reception room, and more. It was elegant and plush, and Bellatrix had grown up used to wealth. Now she settled back into her childhood bedroom, which was decorated in shades of white, grey, and black. It was an elegant space that was not, perhaps, as feminine as one might expect for a young witch. Bellatrix gazed out the window of her bedroom to the busy street below, where Muggle cabs and pedestrians hurried by.

She gasped then, for an owl headed straight at her window, and she rushed to throw it open so the bird could fly inside. The big barn owl glided into her bedroom and dropped off a letter, and then it turned right around and flew back outside. Bellatrix's mouth fell open in surprise, but she picked up the letter that had fluttered to the ground, and she broke the seal on the back of the envelope. She pulled out the card inside and immediately recognised the neat, tight script.

 _Bellatrix,_ it read, _We will be having a group Death Eater meeting on Friday at seven in the evening. Do not be late. That being said, I should like to being your Occlumency lessons as soon as possible, and in order to test your readiness, I would like you in my office at Malfoy Manor tomorrow at eight in the morning. Do not be late to that, either. - L.V._

Bellatrix grinned broadly, pulling the letter to her chest. Her heart sped up as she thought of seeing him, hearing his voice again, working with him and proving herself to him. Giving herself to him. She wanted to give him everything. She wanted to be everything he wanted. Tomorrow at eight? She'd be on time, she thought. She'd be ten minutes early.

 **Author's Note: So he wants to teach her Occlumency. Mwah hahaha… there should be some fun memories, thoughts, and ideas to uncover in** _ **that**_ **process, no? Thank you as always for reading and especially for any and all feedback.**


	5. Assessment

"Enter." Voldemort smirked. She was ten minutes early. He'd told her not to be late, and here she was, ten minutes early. He waited for the door to open, for her to come walking into his office, and when she did, his breath caught in his throat a little. She looked marvelous again, this time in a tight black jumper and a pleated black skirt that hit her knees. She wore knee-high, flat-heeled boots and had her curls pulled up high above her head, cascading down around her face. Her eyes were heavily lined and her lips were frosty pink. She looked young and very, very pretty.

"Miss Black," he said lightly. "Do come sit."

She did, flashing him a grateful sort of smile, and when she primly arranged herself on the edge of the chair opposite him, he felt compelled to ask her,

"Have you had breakfast?"

"Breakfast, Master?" she repeated, sounding surprised. She shook her head. "No, sir."

"Oh. That's a bit of a problem; Extended Legilimency against an empty stomach can make you quite nauseated. Erm… here. I've still got some pastries on the cart Dobby brought in this morning. Do you care for croissants?"

"I do. Thank you, Master." Bellatrix seemed very surprised as Voldemort Conjured her a glass and filled it with water, then Summoned a plate and a croissant from the cart. He let her eat, and when she seemed self-conscious, he read the _Daily Prophet_ so she wouldn't feel like he was watching her.

"People are still whinging about those damned Squibs' marches," he muttered, and he lamented, "I wish we'd done more rioting, more attacks on the marches themselves. We just didn't have the strength."

"I would have killed Squibs for you, My Lord," Bellatrix said confidently, and he raised his eyes to her, throwing up an eyebrow.

"Would you have done?"

"Yes." She took another bite of croissant, then set it down and sipped from the water he'd made for her. She said firmly, "I would have set fire to those marching Squibs. I would have burned them alive for you, Master."

Suddenly he felt a flush of want for her, and he dragged his knuckles around his desk a bit. He nodded and mumbled,

"Well. I wish you'd been there instead of being stuck at school."

She curled up half her mouth and reminded him, "I'm almost finished."

With the croissant or with school, he wondered? Both, he thought. She took the last bite of the croissant, and he Banished her plate back to the cart and set the newspaper aside. He sighed and told her,

"I want to test your mind's openness as well as how instinctive resistance is for you. I will be using Legilimency to look for several different types of memory. The first is Nostalgia - I will search for a memory that gives you feelings of happy remembrance, likely from your childhood. The second type of memory is Regret - something that happened, but that you wish you could take back. Something you wish had not happened. The third type is Fear - a memory that you associate with panic or anxiety. And the fourth type is Eroticism - a memory that is likely to cause embarrassment and an instinctive need to thrust away invasion due to the intimate nature of the idea."

Bellatrix licked her bottom lip and nodded. "And so you want to see whether my mind makes any instinctive attempt to reject you when you look at these memories, Master?"

"This is not some sort of pass or fail exam," he assured her. "I am merely making a preliminary assessment of your mind before we begin real Occlumency lessons. I hope to do that in earnest as soon as the summer holidays begin, at which point I mean to work with you daily until you've mastered the skill. I'd like to be able to strategise those lessons."

"Yes, Master," Bellatrix said, and before she could think too much more on her own, Voldemort said softly,

" _Legilimens._ "

His mind crept right into hers, like someone opening an unlocked door and walking right into a house. Her mind was utterly open to him, and he found himself flicking through images like pages in a long book. Most were very uninteresting - school lessons, conversations with her parents - and he knew what he was looking for. Childhood. Nostalgia. Finally he settled on something, and he watched the image play out in the space behind his eyes.

 _Bellatrix was blowing on the white, fluffy dandelion, sitting on the swing in her parents' back garden in Knightsbridge._

' _Bella!' called a voice, 'Dinner's ready!'_

' _Be right there, Andy!' Bellatrix called. She tipped her head back and soaked up the feel of the sun on her skin._

Voldemort jolted, for he felt a snap, like a whip cracking. He blinked and narrowed his eyes at Bellatrix, who shook her head a little at him. He pulled out of her mind and asked,

"Did you do that on purpose?"

"No, Master. I didn't… do what?" She seemed concerned, but he felt impressed. He just nodded and whispered again,

" _Legilimens._ "

Once more he found himself threading through image after image, wending down an endless path of her memories until he found the type he wanted. Regret.

' _Maybe we'll be married, you and I,' Rodolphus Lestrange said, and Bellatrix nervously nodded at him._

' _Maybe,' she agreed. They were fifth-year students, standing outside the castle at school, and Rodolphus brought his hand to her cheek._

' _You're beautiful, Bella,' he told her. She dragged her cheek over her lip._

' _Thanks.'_

' _I'd really like to kiss you,' he said, and she just nodded again, afraid to do much of anything else. After all, her father was bandying about the idea of matching her to Rodolphus. It might not be the worst thing if they kissed, just to test things out. Rodolphus lowered his face, and Bellatrix tensed up beneath him as his lips -_

 _NO. NO. GET OUT._

Voldemort retreated quickly from Bellatrix's mind, feeling almost physical pain at the way her mind had rejected him. Now she was bent over a little in her seat, and she shut her eyes tightly as she admitted,

"I don't like thinking about that, My Lord."

"You did a fine job pushing me away," he assured her. "That's good. That's really quite good. We can work so much better with a mind that instinctively does these things. Only two more, all right? _Legilimens._ "

He thumbed around in her mind until he settled on fear, panic, anxiety. He felt her heart rate accelerating, felt her breath quickening. Then he frowned, for the scene before him was the meeting they'd had just before she'd gone back to school after the Christmas holidays. They'd discussed her spying at school, her Hogsmeade visits, and he'd sent her on her way. She was anxious because she'd thought perhaps he'd be very angry with her about what had happened on New Year's Eve. She thought she'd be punished for certain. She thought perhaps he'd even kill her. Voldemort felt no resistance, no anger in her mind, and as he pulled away from her, he muttered,

"I would not kill you over that, Bella."

"I would scarcely blame you," she whispered. "What I did on New Year's Eve was very disrespectful and presumptuous."

"I didn't mind it," he assured her, and she raised her eyes and insisted,

"It would have been your right to mind it, Master, and to kill me for it. So I was afraid."

"I see. Last one. _Legilimens._ " Voldemort pushed into her head and hesitated for a moment, thinking he ought not humiliate her by looking for something erotic. But that was the entire point - humiliating her - in order to trigger her mind pushing him out.

Instead he felt her mind embrace his presence as he settled onto a memory of her waking up from a dream in her Slytherin girls' dormitory bed. She was lying on her back, pushing her hand beneath the blankets, touching between her legs. She was soaked there from her dream, and she was whispering desperately, _Master._

He felt no resistance. Her mind made no effort to rid itself of him now.

His breath sped up in his nostrils as the vision continued. She was touching herself to completion. She was coming; she was whispering the word over and over. _Master. Master._

"Bellatrix," Voldemort said aloud, rather helplessly, and he yanked himself from her head. She stared at him, red-cheeked, and he demanded, "How often did that happen?"

"Erm…" Bellatrix looked away and shook her head. "I'm sorry."

"No; it's…" Voldemort closed his eyes. "It's profoundly erotic. I was not prepared. That's all."

"I dream of you," she said quietly, and suddenly his breath began to quiver between his lips. She was only home for a week. He needed to seize his chance whilst he had it.

"I live here," he blurted. She turned her eyes to him in confusion, and he told her, "I'm staying here. In rooms here. I have… I have a suite of rooms here. Would you like to see them?"

Bellatrix smirked a little. "Bad things happen when you ask me if I'd like a tour of your facilities, Master."

He just nodded, his hands making fists in his lap, and he asked her seriously,

"Would you like to see my rooms here, Bellatrix?"

"Yes, please, Master," she agreed solemnly, rising from her chair.

 **Author's Note: So it looks like her mind is primed and ready for real Occlumency, and it also looks like we'll have a pretty tart lemon coming up. Obviously, this story is more physical than most of my other stories, but since it's just a bit of a romp, that's to be expected. Thanks as always for reading, and please do leave a review if you get a moment. Thank you!**


	6. Black and Gold

"So… this is… where I live," Voldemort said rather crisply, and Bellatrix looked around his dark blue and metallic silver sitting room. She smirked and said,

"It's a bit blue. I would have thought you'd prefer green, Master."

"I didn't choose the furnishings," he said, running his fingers over the back of a sofa, "but I don't mind the blue."

"No?" Bellatrix nodded. "It's nice. Mr Malfoy offered you space in his manor, then?" She was curious. Didn't he have his own home?

"I come from humble origins," Voldemort informed her. He circled around the sofa, approaching her, and he said, "Everyone else who's a Death Eater knows the truth. You may as well know it. I was once Tom Riddle, who went home to a Muggle orphanage on holidays. Everyone knew that."

"Oh." Bellatrix felt breathless, thinking of him in an orphanage. He seemed entirely too _big_ for that. Too powerful. She gulped and shook her head. "I find that so difficult to believe, Master."

"I'll have palaces of my own someday," he vowed. "For now I'll take the rooms here with pleasure."

He said that last word rather deliberately, and his eyes flicked into a bedroom that appeared to be outfitted in heavy black velvet and curtain. Bellatrix followed him in there, into the black and gold and white, and she couldn't help thinking it was a little gaudy.

"I didn't choose the furnishings," he said again, and Bellatrix smiled a bit. He looked amused, and he admitted, "I've gotten used to the Vegas gold and black, but -"

"Vegas?" Bellatrix interrupted, and Voldemort cocked up an eyebrow.

"I wasn't just on _this_ continent over the last decade," he said. "I'd heard they were doing real magic in shows for Muggles out in Las Vegas, in the American desert, and I wanted to see for myself. What a wretched place it was. Sex and gambling and liquor everywhere."

"Sounds delightful," Bellatrix murmured, and Voldemort choked a little laugh.

"I wouldn't let you within a hundred miles of Las Vegas," he declared. "It'd devour you whole and spit you back out. It's the worst of what Muggles have to offer the world, which is essentially nothing."

"The worst of nothing," Bellatrix nodded, and he sighed a little as he said rather awkwardly,

"I enjoy talking with you. I don't enjoy talking with most people."

Bellatrix reached rather boldly for his hand, and his teeth sank into his lip as he stared at her fingers around his. He used his left hand to hold her face, and he bent quickly to kiss her. Bellatrix drank it up, the way that he plunged his tongue between her lips, the way he dragged it along her bottom lip and then nibbled there. He surprised her by starting to yank at her jumper, wrenching it up from the waist of her skirt. She raised her arms above her head and let him pull it up and toss it away, let him pull down the zip of her pleated black skirt. She bent quickly to shimmy out of her boots, and then she stood there in knickers and a bra and nothing else.

"Pretty," Voldemort breathed. "Bella. You are pretty. I haven't… erm… I've not bothered with women, with witches. But you're quite pretty, and I find myself distracted by you."

"I'm sorry," Bellatrix said, for it seemed right to apologise. He just shook his head and bent to kiss her again, and this time one of his hands cupped a breast through her thin cotton bra. She shivered at the touch, her nipple puckering through the fabric. His thumb dragged over the peak, over the little nub there, and she tipped her head back a bit. When he bent down to kiss her neck, she gasped in shock, and she was even more surprised when he growled against her skin,

"I'm going to taste you. I want… I've been craving the taste of you."

"You have, Master?" Bellatrix wasn't sure what he meant. The taste of her? What sort of taste? Hadn't he just been kissing her? She was dizzy as he dug into her neck, kissing her so roughly that she was sure there would be marks. Suddenly he was guiding her to his bed, to the gaudy black and gold bed, and Bellatrix reached desperately for his cock. She tried to grasp at it through his robes, but he informed her,

"I'll take care of myself later. I want to taste you."

She was so confused now, so baffled by what he meant. Wasn't he going to strip down and put his cock inside of her?

Taste.

Suddenly she remembered putting him into her mouth in his office on New Year's Eve, and she wondered if there was some way a man could do something similar.

"Oh, My Lord," she moaned as she crawled up onto his bed, for the very thought of such a thing made her so drenched and dizzy she couldn't think straight. She lay on her back, and Voldemort urged her out of her bra and knickers. He slid them up and down, off of her body, and he placed them carefully beside her. He stared at her bare breasts for a long moment and then bent down to kiss them, sucking on one nipple until Bellatrix's back arched and she buried her fingers in his hair. She felt a hot flush through her veins, a ring in her ears, and she squirmed as the throb between her legs became unbearable.

"Sorry, but I need to taste you _now_ ," Voldemort yanked his mouth off her breast with a _pop_ , and he descended down between Bellatrix's legs, shoving them apart. He dove hard and fast to a place where no one else had ever put anything but fingers, and Bellatrix gasped. She clutched at his hair, feeling completely shocked by the very notion of what he was doing, and when he began to lick there, she cried out quite loudly.

"Mmph," he groaned against her, and his tongue moved in long, slow, deep strokes all around her entrance. At the top of each stroke, he sucked on her clit a bit. Bellatrix drove her head back against the brocade pillow and shrieked a little, unable to help herself. Her back arched and went rigid, and she wondered if she was hurting him by holding his hair. He squeezed at her hips, his fingertips digging into the sides of her body, and he hummed loudly against her. Again and again, his tongue stroked up, flat and long strokes with a suckling movement on the clit at the end. Over and over. Bellatrix couldn't take it. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. It was so good. Too good. She was coming. She was coming _now_ , so intensely that she was almost unaware of the way she chanted desperately. _Master. Master. Master._

As the clenching and shaking slowed, as the heat and throbbing dissipated, Bellatrix felt him kissing the insides of her thighs, then the tops, then her belly, then her breasts.

"Master," she whined, still panting and feeling very thirsty. His breath was hot and quick on her skin.

"I'll be right back," he told her, sounding a little desperate. She was confused, but when he rushed off to the bathroom and shut the door, she remembered what he'd said. _I'll take care of myself later._ Was he touching himself in there, finishing himself off? Didn't he know he could come on her stomach or in her mouth? She'd give him whatever he wanted.

After a few moments, she heard the sink running in the bathroom, and then she wondered if maybe he'd finished in his robes. It probably wasn't her business to speculate, she thought. In any case, for whatever reason, what he'd wanted had been to use his mouth on her, and far be it for her to complain about _that_.

"Sorry," he said lightly when he came out of the bathroom. "Made a… bit of a mess of myself. But, then, I rather enjoyed the taste."

He smirked, and Bellatrix felt heat in her chest as she realised he had indeed finished just from licking at her. Was this some sort of kink of his? Some sort of particular pleasure he had? Everyone had favourite things to do, didn't they? Well, if this was his favourite thing to do, she was not about to begin filing formal objections.

"I feel like jelly," Bellatrix informed him, "but I'll get dressed, My Lord."

"Not yet." He sat on the edge of the black and gold bed and studied her, seeming to quite like the sight, and he said, "Over the summer holidays, I do want you working daily on Occlumency until you get it right. It's a useful skill. You are more open to expanding your skill set than many others, and I mean to teach you many things."

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix sat up and stroked at the hem of his robe. She gave him a solemn look and promised. "I'll be a very good pupil. I'll try my best."

"I know. You may dress." Voldemort's voice was clinical again. He'd been carefree and easygoing for a time, but he was the Dark Lord again, she could feel. She hurried to get her knickers and bra back on, to get her skirt and jumper and boots back on, and she stood from the bed. She stared at it and said,

"Vegas black and gold. Someday, I'd like to go to Las Vegas, just to see."

"Hmph. I'd never permit you to go alone," Voldemort said stiffly, "and I see no productive reason for you to go."

"No, of course not, Master," Bellatrix said, shaking her head. "It's a silly idea, I know."

Still, as she walked with him out of his suite and down the corridors of Malfoy Manor, she couldn't help thinking of how he'd described the place. Sex and gambling and liquor everywhere. Witches and wizards putting on magic shows to trick Muggles out of their money. It sounded intriguing. But he wanted to focus on Occlumency, so she would focus on Occlumency. But first, she had to get good scores on her N.E.W.T.s.

 **Author's Note: Hmm… sure sounds like somebody wants to go to Rat Pack era Las Vegas for… research. And training. And stuff.**

 **I'll probably wind up keeping this fic pretty short since I'm basically writing it for myself! Haha! It's totally fine, but the number of readers per chapter as well as the number of reviews are… um… piddly at best. Ha. This one doesn't seem to have caught on quite as well as some of my other stories. That's fine; I'll probably just wind up keeping this one short and maybe not moving all the way onto the Vegas storyline. If you're reading and you're suuuuper passionate about me continuing this one, let me know and I'll keep going despite the small audience. Sometimes it's fun to write for a small group as long as they're really into it. Haha. Thanks!**


	7. Outstanding

"So. The wedding is happening on the twentieth of June," Voldemort noted. "In attendance, we believe, will be Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Gideon and Fabian Prewett, and others we consider our enemies. Of course, our top target is…?"

"Dumbledore," said those gathered around the table in unison. Voldemort nodded. He'd gathered Yaxley, Avery, Nott, Mulciber, Crabbe, Lestrange, Malfoy, Goyle, Rosier, Rookwood, Dolohov, the Carrows, and, of course, Bellatrix Black herself. She was seated between Evan Rosier, her maternal uncle, and Abraxas Malfoy. He glanced at her for a moment and then said crisply to his assembly,

"It is my sincerest goal to strike the wedding, but to do so effectively, all of us here present will need to be in full combat mode, ready to hit the wedding with full fury. Bellatrix, that means that the week immediately after school lets out, you'll need to work with me on casting Curses, since you haven't yet had the opportunity."

Everyone turned to look at the baby Death Eater, who nodded vigorously and promised,

"I won't hesitate to torture or kill, Master. I'll have my guard up. I'll fight hard for you."

"She's eager, at least, Master," Malfoy smirked, and Voldemort kept his face stony. He said to Bellatrix,

"You'll go for Gideon and Fabian Prewett, Bellatrix. Avery, Nott, Yaxley, Mulciber, and Lestrange will be on the offensive, attempting to murder anyone who's on our list of Dumbledore's allies. Crabbe, Goyle, Rosier, Rookwood, and Malfoy will be on the defensive, guarding your fellow Death Eaters from potential spells from wedding guests. Leave Dumbledore to me. This will be a five-minute strike at most. We'll meet here at Malfoy Manor when it's finished to quickly debrief, and then we'll scatter."

"And if things… don't go well, Master?" Yaxley asked cautiously. Voldemort sighed through his teeth. He didn't like thinking about failure, but he knew they needed a contingency.

"If things go very poorly, get to a secret location you establish ahead of time, and stay out of contact with one another for weeks. At least until August. I'll signal you through your Dark Marks to let you know I'm well, but I'll stay hidden to evade the Ministry. But it'll be fine, Yaxley. Dumbledore will die. It'll all be grand."

A low rumble of laughter went around the table then, and Avery asked Bellatrix,

"Miss Black, are you ready for your N.E.W.T.s?"

"Not as ready as Agnes, I'm sure," Bellatrix said self-consciously, twirling one of her curls around her finger. "I think I'll be fine in Potions, Transfiguration, History of Magic, and Charms. I'm not as certain about Herbology, Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Astronomy."

"Taking seven N.E.W.T.s?" asked Abraxas Malfoy incredulously. "And I thought I was impressive with six."

"Let's not forget that the Dark Lord himself graduated with… what was it, My Lord? Eight Outstandings?" asked Lestrange, and Voldemort smirked.

"Ten."

" _Ten?_ " Bellatrix asked in disbelief. She shook her head. "I'll be lucky to get three Outstandings, three Exceeds Expectations, and one Acceptable."

Voldemort scoffed. "You underestimate yourself, I'm sure. In any case… enough talk of exams; I'm sure there will be plenty of that back at school. Any other questions regarding the Prewett wedding? No? Dismissed."

He watched everyone rise and bow their heads to him, and then the room started to clear out. Bellatrix glanced over her shoulder at him, and he beckoned silently for her to stay. She held back, waiting for the others to go, and once they did, she walked up to the door and shut it. She turned and approached Voldemort, cocking up an eyebrow.

"Ten Outstandings?" she murmured, and he laughed quietly. He shook his head.

"It was a lifetime ago. It doesn't matter now. Your exams won't matter, either."

"Oh, good. I shan't revise for them, then," Bellatrix smiled, and Voldemort stood slowly from his chair. He walked toward her and told her quietly,

"I've been hungry for the last several days. I have an urge to taste you again."

She grinned crookedly up at him, and he demanded,

"What's so funny?"

Her cheeks pinked, and she shook her head.

"It's just… erm… have you got sort of a… a _thing_ for that, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked. Voldemort shrugged.

"So what if I have? I can always put my cock in you afterward if I want it as an appetiser; have you some sort of objection to the sensation?"

"No. Absolutely not," Bellatrix assured him. She put her hands flat on the front of his robes and whispered, "It felt divine."

He was a little dizzy then, thinking of the metallic, slightly bitter tang of her. Yes, he had a _thing_ for it. He quite liked having his face buried between her legs. He didn't know why. He didn't care why. All that mattered was that he liked it. If he liked it, and he wanted it, and she gave it to him, then he would take it, over and over again.

He kissed her, bending to crush her mouth with his, and he started to push her toward the table. He could taste her in here, if he was willing to kneel on the ground for it. He was willing to do just about anything for it. Yes, he had a _thing_ for tasting her.

He wrenched himself away from her, though, at the sound of the door to the dining room opening. He hurtled backward, hard in his trousers, his lips wet with her saliva and his robes wrinkled from the clutches of her little fists. He stumbled as the door opened, and Bellatrix was left half-sitting, half-standing on the edge of the table.

"Oh. Hello, My Lord. Miss Black." Ambrose Avery looked surprised and embarrassed as he walked in, and he gestured toward the chair where he'd been sitting. "Pardon me. I left my wand. Took it out to show Nott the crack in it that I've got to get repaired."

"Yes; get that fixed by Ollivander immediately," Voldemort said harshly. "I can't have you in battle with a faulty wand."

"It's working fine, Master, but I'll get it repaired this afternoon," Avery affirmed. Voldemort cleared his throat and said in a low voice,

"See that you do. Good day."

"Good day, sir. Miss Black." Avery left the room, shutting the door behind him, and Bellatrix huffed out a breath as she whispered,

"He of all people ought to know…"

 _What it's like to be walked in upon_ , Voldemort finished for her in his mind. He'd been discovered with his mistress by his daughter, after all. He nodded and promised Bellatrix,

"He'll stay quiet. Come with me; we ought not linger."

He was frustrated by the way their time had been cut short, but at the same time, he knew that he and Bellatrix were getting dangerously close to crossing lines that couldn't be uncrossed when it came to intimacy. As they walked down the corridor from the dining room, he kept his back straight and his voice tight, and he asked her,

"When is your next Hogsmeade visit?"

"It's in the middle of May, Master," Bellatrix informed him, "owing to the holidays and then exams. It's the sixteenth of May, and that's the last one of the school term. Then we have exams and graduation, and then…"

"And then you're a soldier full time," Voldemort completed for her in a clip. Still, it felt like an eternity from now. It was only the end of March. It was more than two months until she sat her exams, until she was home for good. Why did his chest ache at the thought of only seeing her for one brief Hogsmeade visit before then? He shut his eyes, pausing for a moment outside his office, and he mumbled,

"You need an escape location in case things go wrong at the wedding. Come into my office."

Bellatrix followed him as he walked into the office, and he coughed softly, leaning back onto his desk.

"If something goes wrong at this first battle," he said, "where will you hide?"

Bellatrix hesitated. "At… at my cousins' house. My aunt and uncle's house in London."

"Grimmauld Place?" Voldemort asked in disbelief. "That's the second place they'll look for you, after your parents' house, if you're wanted. You need somewhere you've never been. Somewhere they'd never think of looking."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open, and she shook her head helplessly. Voldemort nodded and told her in a quiet voice,

"I'm going to America if something goes wrong."

"America?" Bellatrix asked, her eyes going wide. Voldemort nodded, shrugging.

"I'll be carrying a modified Portkey with me. A pendant on a chain around my neck which becomes a Portkey only when I close my fist around it for ten seconds. If you'd like, I can make you one, as well."

"What, so I could escape to America, too?" Bellatrix asked, looking shocked. Voldemort tipped his head.

"I thought you wanted to see Las Vegas."

"I thought we were hoping for success at this wedding," Bellatrix said, and he was almost taken aback by her tone until she added contritely, "Master."

He pinched his lips and admitted, "I do not think we will successfully overwhelm every wand at that wedding. Especially if Dumbledore is there. I am attempting to be honest, with myself and with my movement. It's important that we strike and that we are safe afterward, but I expect casualties on _both_ sides, and I fully expect the need for all of us to flee and hide for a little while afterward. To lay low, no matter how well things go."

"Las Vegas, then," Bellatrix asked in a hushed voice, and Voldemort gnawed on his lip, nodding.

"I'll make you a Portkey," he said, "just in case things go wrong. But you're quite right, Bellatrix; we want things to go right. We want things to go perfectly, for Dumbledore to be slain along with all of his allies and for none of our Death Eaters to be lost."

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes and asked, "But you don't think that's what will happen, My Lord?"

He was quiet for a moment, until he said simply, "I am a realist."

Bellatrix nodded very determinedly then. "I'll go for Gideon and Fabian Prewett," she said, "and you'll go for Dumbledore, Master. And we'll fight as hard as we possibly can, and whatever happens, you'll still be the Dark Lord. And if you feel the need for us to escape, then we will go to Las Vegas and see all of its madness and wickedness whilst we're in hiding. But first, My Lord, I will kill for you. I will slay your enemies, because I am your soldier."

Nothing in the world would have stopped him from kissing her then.

 **Author's Note: So Vegas is the escape route! Eek! The next chapter will skip ahead in time a bit to Bellatrix's N.E.W.T.s, the end of term, and the Prewett wedding and then… maybe… Vegas? Ha. I won't cut this story super short; I can see that there are plenty of people who are really interested in it. Please do drop a line every now and then as you're reading, if you feel so inclined; the feedback is greatly appreciated and lets me know that people are still interested in the story. In the meantime, I'm really anxious to get these two out to Rat Pack era Las Vegas. Mwah hahaha.**


	8. NEWTs and Cake

_A subcommittee of sorcerers from which location was involved in the International Warlock Convention of 1289?_

 _Marbella, Sardinia, Sicily, Menorca, or Ibiza?_

Bellatrix tapped her foot rather impatiently as she circled _Sardinia_ and carried on through the History of Magic exam. Professor Binns had always been a dull and uninteresting teacher, but Bellatrix had managed to absorb most of the information from his classes over the years.

 _Which of the following giants led a force against wizardkind at the Battle of Inverness in 1892?_

 _Krok, Gronk, Krak, Nonk, or Ligg?_

Bellatrix smirked a little at the way Binns had tried to trick them with the multiple choice answers. She circled _Nonk_ and then moved onto an essay asking about Rappaport's Law in America, which had been fully repealed just a few years prior. Bellatrix struggled in her answer not to sound overly Blood Purist, for she knew she wouldn't get full marks that way. She tried to stay objective and write only the facts - the law's foundations, reasons for its existence, reasons given for opposing it, and the story of its repeal. Then she wrote her second essay question, which was about Mnemone Radford and the invention of Obliviation. The essay prompt asked what effect the invention had on wizarding history. Bellatrix wrote out a thorough response and then put up her left arm, shaking out her sore right hand.

"Professor Binns?" she said at last, for the ghost looked like he'd drifted off into some peaceful trance. The professor jolted and finally said,

"Put your exam up on the desk, Miss Mulciber."

"It's Black. Bellatrix Black," she said, for what she realised would be the last time. She put her parchments up on Binns' desk and underlined the word _Black_ after her name with her quill, which she then tucked into her rucksack. She walked quickly out of the History of Magic classroom and wended her way through the corridors of Hogwarts until she reached the Great Hall, where she and a few other Slytherins threw their hands in the air and jumped around a bit in celebration for a few moments.

"We've finished!" Delia exclaimed. "I've just come from Divination, and Agnes just finished with Ancient Runes. How was History of Magic?"

"Dull, just like his classes for the last seven years," Bellatrix laughed, sitting down for lunch at the table. "I didn't mind. It's over. I think I'll get an Outstanding on that one. In fact… honestly, I think I'll get an Exceeds Expectations on Defence Against the Dark Arts and Herbology, but maybe Outstandings on the other five."

"That'd be so amazing," Agnes breathed. "Will you work for the Ministry?"

Bellatrix shook her head silently, as if in warning, and Agnes shut right up. Delia pinched her lips and murmured quietly,

"Be well and safe, Bellatrix, no matter what you choose to do."

"You both, as well," Bellatrix nodded, and they tucked into one of their last meals as Hogwarts students.

* * *

"Ready?" Voldemort stood over Bellatrix in his office, and she breathlessly stared up at him, nodding her assent.

"Ready, Master."

"Remember what I told you about throwing Curses. You have to _mean it_ ," he said. "Throw them with all the intent you possess. Go for Gideon and Fabian. Are you really ready for this, Bella?"

Bella. He'd called her Bella. She nodded again. He pulled something out of his pocket, a chain with a teardrop-shaped pendant of gunmetal grey material dangling from it. He put the chain around Bellatrix's neck and said,

"If you feel your life is in danger, or if you feel your Dark Mark burn, or if I scream for you to go, then you clutch at this pendant and hold it fast. Be sure you've got your wand. Have you got your Expanded bag packed with necessities and clothes?"

"I've got it, My Lord." Bellatrix gestured to the black velvet pouch at her waist, and Voldemort nodded. He had a small leather bag round his own hip, beneath his billowing outer robe, she could see.

"Right, then. Let's go." He started to walk out of his office, but at the last moment before the door, he whirled round and seized Bellatrix's face in his hands. He smashed his mouth down onto hers, and he told her seriously, "Try not to get killed."

* * *

 _Pop._

 _Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop. Pop._ Then, silence.

Bellatrix looked around at the Death Eaters who had Apparated onto the grounds of the Prewett family home in the Cotswolds. There was a lavender-and-cream tent set up for the wedding, and the merriment inside was boisterous. Bellatrix could hear fiddles and drums and a great heave of laughter as someone told a joke that must have been popular. She arranged her fingers round her curved wand, checked that her Expanded bag was still at her waist, and glanced down at the modified Portkey round her neck.

"My Lord," she whispered, and he stared down at her seriously. She nodded. "I'll kill for you."

"Let's go," he said again, and he began to lead the way toward the tent. Everyone walked the first ten steps or so, and then they began to trot. Then they ran, sprinting like mad toward the tent, shoving their way inside as people began to realise there was an invasion. People started to scream. Tables toppled over; glasses broke.

"Gideon and Fabian Prewett," Bellatrix mumbled, shoving past an elderly witch who was trying to Disapparate. She used her foot to push away a small child, and she aimed her wand at a pretty witch she recognised as Molly Prewett - now Weasley. She was wearing a beautiful wedding gown, ivory silk, and Bellatrix scanned her up and down before she flung her wand at her and yelled, " _Stupefy!"_

The bride hurtled backward, flying into the four-tiered wedding cake, which toppled over and fell onto her. Arthur Weasley rushed over toward his new wife, who was covered in chocolate cake and vanilla frosting now, her ginger hair coated in the stuff. Arthur looked concerned, but Bellatrix smirked and aimed her wand at him.

" _Stupefy!_ " she screamed, and Arthur whizzed in a circle before slumping beside his wife. Bellatrix laughed a little, looking around desperately for Gideon and Fabian. Someone bumped her hard as they made a mad dash for the exit of the tent, and Bellatrix dropped her wand.

"Shit!" she exclaimed, dropping down to her knees and searching around for it. "Wand. Wand, wand, wand."

Someone kicked her head in the scramble to leave. There were pops all around as people Disapparated. There were bangs and flashes of various colours of light. The sound of the tent ripping, of people screaming, surrounding Bellatrix. Suddenly she heard someone say,

"Lestrange is gone! Lestrange is gone! Moody's gone; he took Lestrange!"

"Fucking hell; Gideon and Fabian Prewett Disapparated!" yelled Augustus Rookwood.

" _What?_ " Bellatrix exclaimed. She spotted her wand then; someone had kicked it underneath a table. She scrambled, crawling desperately toward it, and she reached out until someone stepped on her hand. She looked up, wide-eyed, to see Minerva McGonagall staring down at her.

"Miss Black," said McGonagall in her tight Scottish brogue, her boot knitted against Bellatrix's wrist, "I wish I were surprised to find you in this company."

"Out of my way, bitch," Bellatrix growled, and she shoved McGonagall's boot so hard that the witch tripped, grabbed at the material on the perimeter of the tent, and yelped as she careened against a potted plant. Bellatrix snatched at her wand, and, afraid she didn't have it in her right now to actually cast a proper Killing Curse, aimed her wand at McGonagall and cried,

" _CRUCIO!_ "

Suddenly a red web of light crackled forth from Bellatrix's wand and wrapped itself around McGonagall's body. It snapped and flared for a moment until Bellatrix felt a spark, a heat inside of her, and she was abruptly very tired. She broke the spell, and McGonagall shook as she stared up at her, saliva dribbling from her mouth as she aimed a trembling finger at Bellatrix.

"You," she said. "You have always been a wicked little girl. And now you'll let him make you a wicked woman, too. Well. I wished differently for you, Bellatrix."

"Bellatrix!"

She whirled around at the sound of her master's voice. She suddenly realised that everyone was gone. The tent was empty except for the Stunned bride and groom, McGonagall, Voldemort, and Bellatrix.

"Where's Dumbledore, Master?" she asked, and Voldemort sneered,

"The coward led an _evacuation_. He wouldn't even duel me properly; he just kept Disapparating with people clutching his robes, then coming back for more little refugees. I see you threw the bride into the cake."

McGonagall Disapparated somehow, with a little _pop_ , and Bellatrix told Voldemort,

"I cast a Cruciatus Curse on her. She's going to tell the Ministry. They're going to come for me."

"Well. They'll try," he said. "But you'll in America for a good long while, and then all they'll have is her word, and we'll all be wanted, anyway. Welcome to the wonderful world of being a fugitive, Miss Black. Shall we go?"

"Where are the others?" Bellatrix looked around, and he told her,

"We did our damage. We terrified them. This is not, as it happens, a failure. But we do all need to hide for a little while. Two months, probably. Let me notify everyone that I'm fine."

He pressed his wand to his Dark Mark, and Bellatrix felt her own Mark burn hot. It was the agreed-upon signal to stay in hiding, that the Dark Lord was well and that they would all regroup when he called them again through their Marks. Voldemort stripped off his outer robe and began Transfiguring it until it resembled a Muggle suit coat, and then he pulled it back on. He pinched his lips and told Bellatrix,

"It's very strange where we're going. I'll need you to stay close. You will feel like a stranger in many ways. Are you ready?"

"No," she whispered, "but I'll always go where you bid me, Master."

"Right," he nodded, pulling out his pendant. "Let's go."

 **Author's Note: Poor McGonagall. And poor Molly, getting Stunned straight into her own wedding cake. Oops. But now we're off to Fabulous Las Vegas! Woo hoo! If you'd like to get a taste of what Vegas was like during this time period, search on YouTube for "Old Las Vegas 1969." :)**


	9. The Flamingo

When Voldemort landed, smacking into the brick wall beside him, he was immediately struck by the fact that it was day, whereas it had been late evening in Britain. It was also hot - as hot as a furnace.

"Agh!" Bellatrix crashed hard against the brick wall, so hard that Voldemort heaved her to her feet, and she brushed off her skirt and stumbled. She looked profoundly woozy and then vomited onto the sidewalk before them. She fell to her knees and was sick again, very violently.

"Portkey-Sick," Voldemort said. He crouched down a bit, ignoring the smell of her vomit. He surreptitiously Vanished the puddles of sick and reassured her, "It's normal after coming this far. _Scourgify. Fresca._ "

"Thank you, Master."

"You can't call me that, not here," Voldemort scolded her, helping her rise again. Bellatrix scowled in the vibrant sunlight and shook her head, flinching as a massive American automobile drove by.

"What am I meant to call you?"

"If you call me _Master,_ it will invite questions I don't feel like answering," Voldemort said crisply. "You can decide what we're posing as. I'm twenty-five years older than you. Are we father and daughter, or partners?"

"Father and daughter?" Bellatrix's eyes bugged out, and she looked like she'd be ill again. Voldemort smirked and told her,

"I was _Tom_ , once upon a time. Tom Riddle. You know that. Everyone knows that. No one's called me _Tom_ in about five years, and I like it that way, but I'll bend the rules whilst we're here. Go ahead and refer to me as Tom for the time being."

"Tom," Bellatrix repeated, and it almost sounded like the word was awkward in her mouth. Voldemort realised suddenly that he didn't hate the name so much when it was her saying it. In fact, he blinked and waited, and when she whispered the name again, his breath caught a little. Another car drove by and Bellatrix finally took a moment to look up. She gasped, for then she could see what was around them.

They were surrounded by mountains, of course, dull brown-grey in the distance. The sun was almost blinding, and the heat was almost suffocation. There was a massive eight-lane boulevard before them, down which cars passed, some convertibles, others with the windows down and Muggle rock music blasting. Across the boulevard was a hotel called Caesar's Palace, which was a gaudy grey-and-white place with a colonnade, made to mimic buildings from Ancient Rome. But the chintz of Caesar's Palace was nothing compared to the building behind them. Voldemort turned a little, and Bellatrix gasped as she took in the vibrant pink of The Flamingo's sign. She stared up at the enormous, towering pink umbrella-shaped sign and read it, and then she asked,

"What is _Playgirls Revue_ , My Lord? Erm… Tom?"

"I'm not sure I want to find out," he said, and he grabbed her wrist, for she was far too close to the road for his liking. Bellatrix stared further down the Las Vegas Strip, and she marveled,

"It's all so bright."

"Just wait until nighttime," Voldemort muttered. "Now. Let's go see if we can finagle these Muggles into giving us two rooms close together. I've got loads and loads and loads of Muggle money… and there's always a good Confundus Charm. Let's go."

* * *

Did you get settled into your room all right?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix nodded as she walked into his own room. She was right next door to his, and she moved toward the window and stared outside. The pool below was very busy, for it was exceedingly hot outside.

"They like to swim in pools, Muggles, don't they?" Bellatrix asked. "I've only swum in the ocean. Never in a pool."

"Seems stupid, to swim around in a little concrete cube," Voldemort said, and he shut the curtains and lit the electric lamp on the desk. He looked around at the hideous shades of brown and yellow that were in fashion for Muggles at the moment, and Bellatrix seemed to be doing the same. She scowled and told him,

"They have absolutely no sense of dignity in decorating anything."

"There's no dignity at all in this town," Voldemort said tightly. "I came here to learn how to be the boss of things, for this is a town run by bosses. I came here to learn how to cheat, for this is a town where everyone lies and everyone cheats. I came here to learn to manipulate, to learn to swindle and take. I learnt it all here, because this is a town where everyone takes and no one gives. And, no, there is no dignity here."

Bellatrix raised her eyebrows and nodded. From outside, there was the sound of a few children screaming at the swimming pool, and Voldemort huffed angrily, casting a Silencing Charm around the room to muffle the obnoxious noise. He watched as Bellatrix tried to stifle a yawn, and he realised at once why she was so tired. They'd eaten before going to the Prewett wedding, so that they were fighting on full stomachs, but it was past eleven in Britain now, and she had cast a Cruciatus Curse and then traveled internationally by Portkey. She must be exhausted. He was quite tired.

"I want to show you this city at night," he told her. "Perhaps we ought to rest for a while so that we can see the glow of the place once the sun goes down. That won't be for a few hours. What do you say to a bit of a nap?"

"A nap?" Bellatrix sounded like he'd offered her water in the Nevada desert. She grinned and whispered, "Oh, yes, Master. Thank you. I'll go back to my room."

"Just stay here," Voldemort suggested quietly. Bellatrix looked shocked, but Voldemort gestured toward the beds. "There are two beds. We don't have to share. You lie in that one, and I'll lie in this one. Here, look at this. It's a Muggle alarm clock. See here? You turn this dial to set the time you want it to go off… so I'll set it for eight o'clock… and then you push here. That way we'll be certain not to wake up at two in the morning."

Bellatrix smiled a little and nodded. She climbed into one of the ugly brown beds after taking off her boots, and as she pulled the blankets up around her, she said,

"I think I'll have to change clothes before we go out again. To blend in. It seems the young Muggle women here wear short dresses. I've got something that'll work."

"Oh. Short dresses. Yes. Like what you wore on New Year's Eve," Voldemort said, kicking off his own shoes and lying in the other bed, facing her. Bellatrix nodded on her pillow, staring at him. He gulped and told her, "You looked marvelous on New Year's Eve."

"You don't think the wedding was a failure, Master?" she asked, and he sighed.

"Not exactly. I didn't kill Dumbledore, but I wasn't expecting him to let me. Not there. I do think it's rather hilarious that you Stunned Molly Prewett into her own wedding cake."

Bellatrix giggled, yanking the blankets up around her more tightly. Voldemort curled up half his mouth and said,

"And I do rather like that you tortured McGonagall."

"I'm sorry I didn't get Gideon and Fabian Prewett," she said. "Someone kicked my wand under a table, and I was scrambling to find it."

"Oh. They Disapparated almost at once," Voldemort told her nonchalantly.

"Cowards," Bellatrix mumbled. Voldemort suddenly thought it was very stupid that they were in separate beds, but he also knew that if he were in the same bed as her right now, he'd be holding her, and that would be entirely too much. So he just encouraged her,

"Shut your eyes and get some rest. Soon enough, the sun will be down, and you'll see what this city's made of. You'll need your energy for that."

* * *

She looked _marvelous_. She wore a black sequin dress that was high and tight around her neck, sleeveless, fitting her tiny body snugly. She had her curls piled in a bun atop her head with tendrils falling down. She'd done her makeup with heavy winged eyeliner and pale pink lipstick. She looked _marvelous_.

"Ready to go?" he asked her, hoping he looked all right in his dark grey, neatly tailored suit. She stared up and down at him and gulped visibly, looking hungry, and she nodded. He reached for her hand, which seemed to surprise her, but he reminded her,

"You and I are _together_ , remember? You must call me Tom, and it's best if you hold my hand. If you're not holding my hand, someone will think I'm your father at best or your customer at worst."

"My customer?" Bellatrix asked, and then realisation came over her face. They'd think she was a whore and he was a john, because of the age difference. Her mouth fell open, and she squeezed his hand tightly. Voldemort locked up his room and checked that his wand was tucked into his suit jacket, and then he walked with Bellatrix through the smoky, narrow corridors of the Flamingo. They walked down two flights of stairs and went out through a lounge where a pianist was singing jazz, and Bellatrix coughed a little.

"They certainly like their cigarettes, Muggles," she murmured, and Voldemort lamented,

"Makes my eyes burn."

They went through the casino area, through craps tables and blackjack, through penny slots after penny slots. Bellatrix pulled on Voldemort's hand and asked him,

"You could win every one of these, couldn't you?"

"Of course I could," he said in a low voice, "but I'd like not to leave Las Vegas in a police car. If I cheat the House, I sandwich it with a few good losses, and I only play every few nights. That's how to avoid suspicion."

"I see," Bellatrix nodded. She followed Voldemort outside, and then she gasped. All up and down the Strip were flashing lights. Pink lights, white lights, red and blue and purple and yellow. Blinking, alternating, blaring and flashing and roaring lights everywhere. The car traffic had accelerated significantly on the Boulevard, and Voldemort informed Bellatrix,

"I don't want to try and cross the street on foot. We're going to Apparate to dinner. Come with me."

He pulled her over to the side of the building, and Bellatrix looked very nervous all of a sudden. He squeezed her hand more tightly than ever, and he Disapparated, taking her with him and coming to outside the Dunes. A Muggle woman gasped and exclaimed,

"Dave, those people just popped out of nowhere!"  
"Susie, you done had too much to drink. Come on, now," said Dave, and Bellatrix laughed a little as Voldemort led her into the Dunes. This place was blinking and sparkling, too, with loud music and loud conversation. The casino itself was raucous as they moved through it, but once they finally reached the restaurant called the Dome of the Sea, they'd reached a far more tranquil environment. This place was all blue and purple and green, and inside, Voldemort could see a harp playing.

"Table for two," he told the maitre d', and the man said sorrowfully,

"We're all booked up tonight, sir, I'm afraid."

 _Confundo_ , Voldemort thought, and the maitre d' vibrated where he stood. Bellatrix's hand tightened around his, and she smiled as the Muggle said,

"Actually, I can take you right now, Mr Riddle. Just follow me, please."

"Thank you!" Voldemort said very happily. He led Bellatrix into the restaurant, and a half hour later, they were sitting with two plates of mountain brook trout, whipped potato, and grapes before them. Bellatrix carefully chewed a bite of fish and looked around.

"I can't imagine why you think this city has no soul," she said. "I think it's wondrous."

"That's because you have not yet seen the man, frantic, in tears, on the telephone with his wife, attempting to explain why it is that their bank account is empty. Attempting to explain why it is that he gambled away every last penny he possessed. You have not yet seen the whores exhausted by seven in the morning because they've worked four men during the night, the women whose parents don't even know where they are. You've not yet seen those men, whose wives don't know where _they_ are. And you haven't seen the magicians who put on a show for unknowing Muggles who suspect they're seeing illusions and are, in fact, seeing things as Dark and invasive as on-stage Legilimency or plucking out an eye and putting it back again."

Bellatrix was silent then. She just ate her fish, and Voldemort asked her,

"What do you think of all that, Bellatrix?"

"I still think it's very interesting… Tom," she said, and his heart began to speed up a little as he studied just how beautiful she looked. He ate his own dinner, and she asked him,

"How's it taste?"

"What?" he almost dropped his fork, and when he looked up, Bellatrix's wide brown eyes were trained on his.

"How does your dinner taste?" she asked patiently, and he nodded.

"It's fine," he said, "but… I'd rather taste you. I've a bit of a _thing_ for it, you know."

"Have you?" She smiled crookedly and nodded. "Well, I've got a room, if you're interested."

"I'm interested," Voldemort said, and he set about finishing his meal.

 **Author's Note: Woo hoo! They're in Vegas! And he's got a** _ **thing**_ **that he wants to do. Maybe this time he can manage not to finish right away and graduate to other activities. Haha. I had a ton of people read the last chapter but no reviews, so I'm just hoping that doesn't mean people didn't like it! Eek! I'm barreling onward (because I'm having way too much fun writing this story), but if you get a quick moment to let me know your thoughts, I'd be super grateful.**


	10. Viva Las Vegas

"Master!"

Bellatrix shrieked, writhing desperately on the ugly brown bed. She came hard with his tongue inside of her, and he groaned loudly against her body, his hands clasping desperately at her knees and then trailing up her thighs to her hips. He squeezed her waist as her walls clenched around his mouth, and as she panted and moaned softly, he sat up and informed her breathlessly,

"Damn it. I do enjoy that. Oh, Merlin's Beard. _Nongravidare Maxima._ "

She felt the shimmering sort of heat of the contraceptive spell taking her over, and then she grinned as Voldemort slid up her body and slipped straight into her. She sighed at the feel of him filling her, at the sensation of his cock stuffing her up, and she brought her knees up to her chest and her arms around his shoulders. He bent to touch his forehead to hers, and as he began to pump his hips, he said in a shaking voice,

"So, perhaps I have got a _thing_ for tasting you. I hope you'll oblige me from time to time."

"I'll oblige you whenever you like, Master," Bellatrix said, and he reminded her,

"Tom. Call me Tom. I don't want you to forget in public. _Oh_. Oh."

"Master… sorry. Tom. _Tom_." Bellatrix drove her head back against the feel of him accelerating his hips, of his tip hitting her cervix over and over again. She kissed his shoulder and breathed against his neck, and she squeezed her knees around his waist. Over and over he filled her, emptied her, made her gasp and moan. He stilled suddenly, going very tense, and he whispered in a trembling tone,

"Bella…"

She shut her eyes at that, for he'd sounded almost tender, almost… affectionate? Surely not. She rubbed at his bare back as his come leaked out between them, and when eventually he let his cock slip out of her, he lay on his back beside her and whispered,

"Well, I quite like that."

She smiled and informed him, "So do I. But, My Lord, I was wondering if we could go see the _Playgirls Revue_ downstairs. I'm morbidly curious."

"I think it's just some scantily clad girls prancing about," Voldemort said, and Bellatrix giggled.

"I'd like to see that," she said. "Muggle girls making whores of themselves. Seems funny."

"Funny? You've an odd sense of humour. If that's what you want, then get dressed," Voldemort said. "I've certainly got little objection to seeing dozens of girls wearing nothing but glitter circles on their nipples and shimmery knickers."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open. "They wear nothing but _that_?"

Her cheeks went hot, and Voldemort smirked. "You sure you want to see it?"

"Perhaps not," Bellatrix admitted meekly, and Voldemort told her,

"We could go to the casino. I could show you how I cheat the slot machine. It's rather fun, actually."

"All right." Bellatrix grinned, and the two of them dressed again after casting some spells to clean themselves up. They made their way back out through the smoky corridor and down the stairs, back out through the lounge full of men in sport coats with women hanging on them. The pianist was still hard at work, his voice gravelly after years of playing and singing through the cigarette smoke. Bellatrix followed Voldemort into the casino, and he led her to the the rows of slot machines. _Bally_ , they all said on the front, and Bellatrix asked,

"What's _Bally_ , Tom?"

He gave her a long look at the sound of the name, and then half his mouth turned up and he said simply,

"It's the brand. The company that makes the machine. That's all. Here. Sit."

He gestured to the backed stool before the slot machine, and Bellatrix laughed softly as she heaved herself up onto it. She crossed her legs demurely, and Voldemort reached into his pocket and muttered,

" _Gemino Maxima._ "

Bellatrix rolled her eyes; he was multiplying pennies in his pocket. Sure enough, he pulled out a handful of coins, and they were all of exactly the same level of dinginess. Bellatrix didn't reckon the Muggles would think to notice that. She picked up a penny and asked,

"Now what?"

"Now you put the penny into the slot machine," Voldemort said matter-of-factly. "Up here. Yes… now pull down on this crank. Pull hard!"

Bellatrix laughed uproariously as she yanked on the lever to the right of the machine. She watched as the wheels before her spun and spun, and the machine made some tinkling little music. It all seemed very mechanical, distinctly unmagical. Then, suddenly, the wheels stopped spinning, and Bellatrix was looking at a picture of a lemon, a number 7, and a star. She frowned.

"What does that mean?" she asked, and Voldemort tipped his head.

"Means you lose," he said. "Try again. See what happens this time."

He winked at her, actually _winked_ at her, and Bellatrix grinned. She quickly stifled the grin and put on a serious face, popping a penny from her handful of coins into the machine. She pulled on the crank, and the wheels spun again. She heard Voldemort take a very deep breath beside her, heard him murmur a few spells she didn't recognise, and then suddenly the wheels stopped again. _Click, click, click._ 7\. 7. 7.

"I win?" Bellatrix guessed, and Voldemort nodded.

"Oh, yes. You win," he said. The machine lit up, blinking with little lightbulbs all round the outside of it. Bellatrix yelped as pennies started pouring out of the machine into the tray at the bottom. People started gathering around, yelling and cheering.

"She won! She won!" someone cried. "Good job, sweetheart!"

"Erm… thanks," Bellatrix said. "Want some pennies?"

She had no use for the endless stream of Muggle coins, so she started handing fistfuls of them to the gleeful idiots who had clustered around the slot machine. They began snatching rather roughly at the money then, big men grabbing coins out of Bellatrix's hands, and Voldemort snapped,

"Enough. Get away."

"She said we could take it," one man drawled, and Voldemort snarled,

"Leave your hands off her. Get away."

Bellatrix watched the man in the strange hat - a _cowboy_ hat, she'd heard someone say - shudder where he stood. A Confundus Charm. He nodded and handed his pennies to a small woman next to him, and he tipped his hat and told Bellatrix,

"Sorry, there, little lady."

"It's fine," Bellatrix said. She'd had quite enough of the slot machine, so she got off the stool.

"You seem awfully sober for people who just won the penny slot!" cried the bartender from the half-empty bar.

"Oh, drinks sound wonderful," Bellatrix blurted, and Voldemort led her over toward the bar. The bartender, who had been cleaning out a glass with a cloth, set the glass down and said,

"Feel like gambling a little more?"

"That very much depends," Voldemort said, sitting on a backless stool. Bellatrix sat beside him, and the bartender, a skinny middle-aged man with a thick mustache, said,

"I'll make a deal with ya. You pay me for six shots of whiskey, and the girl's are free. You make it through all six, Mister, and the seventh is on me."

"We'll both be on the floor!" Bellatrix exclaimed, and Voldemort pinched his lips. He narrowed his eyes at the smirking bartender, then asked Bellatrix,

"You want to shoot whiskey, Bella?"

"Erm… all right," she nodded, gulping hard. The bartender laughed and nodded.

"You got a good sport here. Daughter?"

"Girlfriend," Bellatrix said quickly. Voldemort licked his bottom lip, drumming his fingers, and the bartender cackled loudly.

"You lucky dog! All right. You only pay for four shots, you got a good-looking little girl like that with you. Hoo boy. All right. That'll be two bucks, Mister."

Voldemort pulled out three single dollar bills and handed them over, and the bartender grinned.

"Thank ya kindly. Here we go. Y'all ready? Woooo!"

He pulled out two shot glasses and a bottle of whiskey, and he filled the glasses to the brim. Bellatrix shut her eyes and knocked hers back. It didn't burn as badly as wizarding Firewhisky. She could tolerate this, she thought. She set her empty glass down, and Voldemort asked her,

"Want some water?"

"No," she managed, shaking her head and coughing a little.

"Again!" the bartender exclaimed, pouring more into each glass. They repeated the process until they'd had four shots each. On the fifth, Bellatrix began to feel very sick, and she turned down the sixth shot. Voldemort said he didn't want a seventh. By then, Bellatrix's head was spinning and her heart felt strange.

"I want to go to bed, Master," she drawled after a while.

"Oh, _that's_ how it is," laughed the bartender. "Master, huh? You ain't got her, like… enslaved or nothing, right? I don't need to call the police?"

"No; it's just a nickname," Voldemort slurred. "We play around."

"Adorable," the bartender said flatly. Bellatrix leaned her head onto Voldemort's shoulder and whimpered,

"I'm dizzy and I want to go to bed."

"All right." He took her hand and stumbled with her through the casino, through the smoky piano lounge. They fell going up the stairs, and it took them an inordinately long time to stand back up again. When they finally reached their floor, Bellatrix lamented,

"I left… ah, _fucking_ hell, Master; I left my key… in your room."

"It's no problem," he mumbled, "because you can just come into my room. To get it."

"All right." It took him five minutes to open his door then, because he dropped the key three times. He finally just slammed his hand onto the door and yelled,

" _Alohomora!_ "

The door clicked and swung open, and Bellatrix giggled as she said,

"Doesn't feel all the time here like you can do… erm… what's the word?"

"Magic," he muttered, shutting the door, and she nodded, which made her even more dizzy.

"Mmm-hmm. Magic." She started to strip her dress off, and she kicked her shoes off, and she set her purse down, and Voldemort told her,

"Don't get your key. Just stay here."

"All right." Bellatrix felt very drowsy as he shucked off his suit one piece at a time, staggering around as he did. He finally made it down to his underwear, his suit jacker and his tie and shirt and trousers scattered all over the room. They stumbled toward the beds, and he told her,

"Don't sleep in a separate bed. Sleep with me."

"All right." Bellatrix smiled a little then as she climbed into the hideous brown bed with him, curling up beside him and letting him cradle her in his arms. He was warm, his skin bare and his breath heavy with whiskey. He kissed her forehead and told her,

"You're so damned beautiful."

"Thanks," Bellatrix mumbled, stroking at his chest. Voldemort caressed her curls and informed her,

"I was… oh, bloody hell… I was so proud of you… at that wedding… you were the only one that made me proud. You make me proud. You do."

"Thanks," Bellatrix said again, burrowing her face against his chest.

"I like being with you," he whispered, his voice suddenly very quiet. Bellatrix could feel his heart speed up. She was quiet, too, then, until at last she said in a blurry voice,

"Thanks."

"Bellatrix." He said the name as if pondering it, as if it were something he had to consider for a later date. Bellatrix shut her eyes and fell asleep hard and fast, curled up there against him, drunk in Las Vegas.

 **Author's Note: Viva Las Vegas, am I right? Thank you so much to all those who have read and reviewed so far! I'd love to know your thoughts.**


	11. Winning at Blackjack

**Author's Note: Yes, this is the end of this story… I warned you this was just a short little romp!**

Lord Voldemort awoke to the faint smell of roses.

When he opened his eyes, _she_ was in his arms, and he realised at once he'd made an awful mistake. He tried and failed to swallow past the lump in his throat as he wriggled out of the bed, noticing then that they were both in their underwear. She'd slept the entire night curled up beside him, his arm around her, his lips beside her. He sighed and stared for a moment, thinking she was achingly beautiful, and he whispered almost mournfully,

"Bellatrix."

He went into the bathroom and took the hottest shower he'd ever taken in his life. His skin felt like it was going to peel off. He thought to himself that if he didn't put a stop to this madness now, he'd wind up sweeping the girl up into his arms and carrying her off to one of the cheap wedding chapels infesting this town.

He was Lord Voldemort. He would never - _could_ never - fall in love. And, yet, six months after that New Year's Eve encounter, it felt like things were getting dangerously close to being that sort of dynamic. They were too easy around one another, he and Bellatrix. They laughed too readily. They smiled too much.

He would teach her Occlumency, he decided, and she would serve him as his Death Eater. But as he shaved his face and scrubbed his teeth, he decided something else, as well.

They ate breakfast at an obscene buffet that reminded Voldemort of how much food used to be served at Hogwarts. He was unsurprised, therefore, when Bellatrix said cheerfully,

"Reminds me of school. Like I never left."

He didn't smile, and Bellatrix hesitated for a moment before she scooped some scrambled eggs onto her plate. She moved down the line and took the strange American bacon and weak-looking sausage links, and then she went to sit at a table. She seemed to sense that something had changed, and when Voldemort sat opposite her, sipping from his orange juice, she asked,

"So, _Tom_ , are we the sort of people who just get drunk and then make terrible mistakes and never speak of them again?"  
"When we get back to England, you're going to marry Rodolphus Lestrange," Voldemort snapped, and Bellatrix raised her eyebrows in surprise. Voldemort nodded firmly. "I will not take no for an answer. You liked kissing him when you did it. You only regretted it because you developed a crush on me. Your father had already attempted an arrangement. Well, that arrangement is going to come to fruition. You will marry Rodolphus Lestrange."

Bellatrix's eyes welled heavily, and she whispered,

"If that's what you will of me, Master."

"That way," he said quietly, "I can keep on tasting you, and holding you, and I shan't feel like I am losing myself in doing so."

Bellatrix raised her eyes then, seeming utterly shocked.

"Master." Her voice was almost inaudible in the boisterous dining room. Voldemort nodded.

"I wish to… keep you close," he said. "Keep you mine in every way except for one, and that one way can be Rodolphus' way. You must marry him, and be Bellatrix Lestrange, and in every other capacity, you will belong to me, and I will not lose myself."

Bellatrix grinned, tucking into her eggs. She took a massive bite, chewed and swallowed it, and said gleefully,

"Well, I think that's the most wonderful plan in all the world. Now… let's go to a different casino today, shall we? I'd like to see you win at blackjack."

 **Author's Note: Yes, I'm ending the story here, because this was just meant to be a fun little escapade for these two, and I wanted to keep it canon-compliant (woo hoo!). So, feel free to headcanon this the next time you're reading the books or watching the films. Hahaha. My next story isn't yet decided; I've got an absolutely crazy next few weeks and am not sure yet what my writing schedule will be. But if you're following me as an author, you'll see when my next story pops up. ;) Until then!**


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